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vent, who took his hand, pressed it affectionately, and said: Brother, it is for ever!' The words 'for ever' struck Giulio. The power of a word over a weak mind is wonderful; those now uttered seemed to reveal to him his whole existence: he beheld himself as one already dead, and for whom time was no more; he fell from thenceforth into a sombre habit, and appeared to support the weight of life wearily.

"Father Ambrosio beheld with compassion the situation of this young man: his sole knowledge of him was that he was unhappy, and he took an interest in him; it occurred to him that occupation might dissipate his melancholy. Giulio had much eloquence, and Ambrosio appointed him to preach: his reputation was of rapid growth, multitudes flocked from all quarters to hear him, he became the subject of a variety of vague rumours, he was young and handsome, and it is probable that the mystery which surrounded him lent an added charm to his words.

"The time drew nigh for the celebration of the feast of the convent, at which the King of Naples and his whole court were to assist; Giulio was selected to pronounce the panegyric of St. Thomas, the patron of the convent, and great preparations were made for the occasion. The day arrived, an immense crowd filled the church, Giulio was with difficulty pressing through it to go to his pulpit, when, in consequence of his efforts, his cowl fell back, leaving his face exposed at that moment he heard the exclamation, Heavens, how handsome he is!' Surprised, agitated, he turned involuntarily, and beheld a female whose eyes were fixed on him with the most penetrating expression. A few moments were sufficient to revolutionize the existence of these two beings. Giulio pronounced his discourse, and immediately on finding himself at liberty, immured himself in his cell, but he was no longer free to deliver himself up to his ordinary meditations: persuaded by the image of the unknown female, experiencing sentiments which were completely new to him, troubled, disquiet. ed, repose seemed to have abandoned him; nevertheless, it seemed to him as though he had only begun to exist from the moment when he heard the voice the accent of which had so penetrated his heart. He dares not hazard a glance towards the future: alas! he cannot, his destiny is irrevocable! Every morning he goes to perform mass, every morning he remarks a veiled female on the same spot; he recognizes her, and

46 has not even a wish to see her face, for then he must avoid her; but he dares allow himself to gaze intently on the veil; he follows all her movements, he feels, as it were, the pulsations of her heart, and replies to them; too weak to tear himself from his danger, he trembles to examine himself, he starts from the truth; his life is compressed into a few rapid moments—during these he exists, the rest of his days is annihilation. He would fain fly; he promises himself, If she be there to-morrow, I will not return;' and, armed with this resolution, he believes himself safe, and feels something like a return of tranquillity. The next day he went to the church somewhat earlier than he was accustomed; she was not there; when every one had retired, he approached her seat, and, perceiving her prayer-book, he seized it, opened it, and saw written on the first page the name of Theresa: now, then, he could repeat, he could call upon her name Ah, Theresa! Theresa!' he murmured, in accents as low as though he feared to be heard, though he was quite alone. Since she did not appear, he had no scruple to return days and weeks rolled away, and Theresa was absent.


Theresa, the wife of an old man, whom she loved as a father, was happy in the fulfilment of her duties, and suspected no other species of happiness than that which was her portion; she saw Giulio, and her peace of mind was gone. So ardent was the soul of Theresa, that her first real sentiment was doomed to form the destiny of her life :—she adored Giulio. Until this crisis her husband had been the confident of her every thought, but she never mentioned Giulio to him: this mystery was painful to her, and seemed to accuse her of her fault; she perceived there was danger to be shunned, and had the courage to abstain from attending mass. In the hope of calming her feelings, she had recourse to confession, and resolved, for that purpose, to return to the church of the Dominicans: she chose the hour when she knew Giulio to be engaged; she approached the confessional, and on her knees acknowledged all she had experienced since the day of the festival of the convent, the happiness which the daily sight of Giulio had caused her, her subsequent remorse, and the courage she had exerted in avoiding him; but confessed that she feared her strength would soon abandon her. 'What must I do ?' she cried: have pity, my father, on a poor sinner!' Her tears flowed in torrents, her agitation was violent.

Scarcely had she concluded, than a threatening voice pronounced the words, Unhappy wretch! what sacrilege!' Giulio, for it was he whom destiny had led thither, rushed from the confessional. Theresa, still kneeling, arrested his steps, she seized his robe; she supplicated him to withhold his malediction; she implored him for her salvation, she implored him for her love. He repulsed her, but very feebly. "Theresa, Theresa,' he cried at last, 'quit this place!-very soon my resolution will fail me.' these words Theresa threw herself into his arms, and enveloped him, as it were, with the atmosphere of her love. 'Say,' she cried Oh say that I am beloved before I quit thée !'


"Giulio, terrified, beside himself, shuddering with fear of a surprise, replied for a moment to her caresses, and pressed her to his heart; but on a sudden, struck by the recollection of the prediction, he swore to fly from her for ever; and without any explanation, he exacted from her that she would bind herself to the same engagement. Theresa, abandoned to her passion, scarcely comprehends his words, and consents to whatever he dictates. What, indeed, did they signify to her?-it is enough that he loves her. She feels assured that she shall see him again. At length they separate.

"Giulio, alone, surrendered to his own reflections, trembles to think of his imprudence; but it is now too late to avoid the danger, he has not been able to escape his destiny. Of that love, without bounds, he is already the victim; the sacrilege is already committed. Has he not, in the very church where he pronounced his vows of holiness, confessed his passion? Still he has sworn to fly from it for ever. Strange inconsistency of heart! that which should constitute his punishment forms his consolation; but in this terrible conflict the wretched Giulio has only a choice of misery.

"Theresa is fearless; Giulio loves her, he has pronounced it, and she defies the stroke of fate. With what delight she recalls the rapid moments she has passed! Such an hour leaves behind it more of remembrance than a whole loveless life. She does not even recollect her promise to avoid him; she returns to the church, sees Giulio, who seems likewise to have forgotten his oath; his whole existence is absorbed by his passion, and when he beholds its object, the universe disappears from his sight; meanwhile they forbore to hold any conversation, Giulio never

failed in her absence to be tortured by remorse, but one look of Theresa threw his soul into disorder; he determined on speaking to her, and on bidding her an eternal adieu.

"At the gate of the convent were a poor woman and her child, who were supported by the alms of Theresa-the little Carlo frequently followed her, earried her book, and prayed by her side. Giulio, who dared not approach Theresa, charged Carlo to tell her that father Giulio would await her in the confessional at seven o'clock in the evening. What a day! Giulio became terrified at the thought of finding himself alone with Theresa. He feared he should want the resolution to afflict her-he could not resolve upon it—he determined not to see her, but rather to write, and Carlo was charged to deliver the letter to Theresa as soon as she enter the church. Theresa on receiving his message was troubled: What,' said she, does he wish of me? We were so content !' Nevertheless, she failed not to be at the church at the hour indicated. Carlo gave her the letter; she opened it with extreme emotion, but what were her feelings on reading the contents!

"Fly hence, imprudent woman, and come no more to pollute the sanctity of this place! Banish a remembranee which causes the torment of my life! I have never loved you,-I will never

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"This sentence pierced the soul of Theresa; his remorse she might have combated, but he no longer loved her, he had never loved her! She was attacked by a violent fever, her life was endangered; the name of Giulio was near her lips, but she commanded herself even in her delirium, ouly murmur ing in a low voice from time to time "I have never loved you."

"Has Giulio meanwhile recovered his tranquillity? Has he silenced his remorse? No. his life is miserable; having once declared to Theresa that he loved no more, he surrendered him. self wholly to this fatal passion. The sacrifice appeared to him sufficient; that letter had been indeed a dreadful effort. Oh, Theresa! could you have known what it cost the unhappy Giulio, your own grief would have been lessened by the consciousness of his suffer ings, for the sorrow which is shared is always greatly alleviated.

(To be concluded in our next.)


That you Please.


A physician of the name of Buller, residing at Hamburgh, has lately invented a new surgical instrument, by means of which he can amputate a leg in one second, and which has the effect of benumbing the pain of the patient, by a simultaneous pressure which accompanies the operation.


A discovery has recently been made, in an abbey of Benedictine friars in Italy, of several musical instruments, which have been found to belong to the ages of the Low Empire. Among them is a cithara, made of ivory, with strings of gold wire, mounted with clusters of diamonds in the form of a rose. There is also an antique taborpipe, to which rare and valuable medals are suspended.


The German Opera, which is most likely to be brought next on the English stage, is the Faust of Louis Spohr, the celebrated violin player; and, we understand, that one of our theatres has it in contemplation to produce it. This is certainly Spohr's best Opera, and the subject being somewhat similar to that of the Freischutz, the choice may prove fortunate.


Dr. Bernhard, of Larris, in Germany, has made a very interesting discovery, for which he has received a patent. It consists in obtaining from animal substances, of which hitherto no use has been made, a product perfectly similar to leather. A manufacture has been established at Gumbold, near Vienna, where this new species of industry is practised with the greatest activity. This discovery of Dr. Bernhard is the more important, as the composition is capable, when in a fiuid state, of being formed into boots and shoes.


Report states, that Sir Gore Ouseley is about to present his very curious collection of Persepolitan antiquities to the British Museum.


Paris, Feb. 25, 1825. During the Carnival, a circumstance


occurred which still affords subject for
remark and satire in our salons, and
also in our bureaux. At that period,
several grands seigneurs gave magnifi-
cent balls, &c. Mr. R-
also gave
his fete. His cards were not spared;
and he collected in his brilliant salons,
Rue d'
all that the court and
capital can boast of rank and fashion.
In the course of the evening, and in the
midst of a contre-dance, the master
perceived one of his clerks bounding
with as much ease and grace as any of
the party, and stepping up to him as
soon as it was possible, exclaimed--" I
am perfectly astonished, sir, to see you
in my salon." Comment donc, Mon-
sicur! I received a card of invitation."
"You do not mean that I am to believe
that it is impossible." "Le voici !"
"Well, sir, there must be some mis-
take: this is not your place. Do you
know that you dance with marchionesses,
countesses, duchesses, princesses !!"
This conversation, in a high tone,
among four hundred persons, had many
auditors: it was repeated; many a
shrug of the shoulder took place of the
light fantastic step. Some were shocked
at the negligence with which the billets
had been issued, and retired as soon as
possible, because they did not know in
what company they were called to
figure; but the greater number, more
generous, were ashamed of their host
rather than of his company-and were
displeased at the pride, the want of
breeding, and of convenance, which he
displayed. In all the salons and bureaux
of Paris, it is asked-" Was not Mr.
then, a commis before he
was a banker and a baron?"


The celebrated Madame Krudener is stated, by the French Papers, to have died lately in the Krimea, whither she went in June last.

M. de Barlurieux refused an appointment in the Guards to an applicant, on the ground of his being too young. "He thinks me too young for a volunteer," said the boy, "and I think him too young for a secretary of state."

When the Abbé de la Riviere returned from Rome, disappointed of being made a Cardinal, and with a severe cold caught in travelling, "the poor Abbé," observed a wit, "has come back without his hat, and thus got a cold in his head."


In the siege of Tournay, which after twenty-one days surrendered to the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, mining was resorted to by both the besiegers and the besieged, and the English miners often met and fought consequences were often dreadful. The with those of the enemy; and sometimes the troops, mistaking friends for foes, killed their fellow-soldiers; sometimes the very moment when they were ready whole companies entered the mines at primed for explosion. They were often inundated with water, suffocated with smoke, or buried alive in the cavities, sions, whole battalions were blown into and left to perish; and on some occathe air, and their limbs scattered to a distance, like lava from a volcano. One day M. de Surville made a sally, and drove the besiegers from a post they had taken; but, being repulsed, and one hundred and fifty men having taken possession of the lodgment, the enemy sprung a mine, blew them all into the air, and overturned all the gabions. On a subsequent day, an inhabitant of Tournay went to the Earl of Albemarle, and offered to discover one of the principal mines of the citadel, on condition that he would make him head gaoler of all the prisons in Tournay; this was agreed to, and the man performed what he had undertaken; so that three bun dred men were posted in the mine, and eight hundred in the town ditch to support them; but in the middle of the night, M. de Megrigny sprung two nines, one immediately under the large mine, in which the three hundred men, before mentioned, were stifled; the other threw up part of the ditch, and buried a hundred men.

Essence of Anecdote and it.

"Argument for a week, Laughter for a month, and a good Jest for ever."-Shakspeare.


When Amer, who had conquered Persia and Tartary, was defeated by Ismail, and taken prisoner, he sat on the ground, and a soldier prepared a coarse meal to appease his hunger. As this was boiling in one of the pots used for the food of the horses, a dog put his head into it; but from the moutli of the vessel being too small, he could not

draw it out again, and ran away with both the pot and the meat. The captive monarch burst into a fit of laughter; and, on one of his guards demanding what cause upon earth could induce a person in his situation to laugh, he replied, "It was but this morning the steward of my household complained, that three hundred camels were not

enough to carry my kitchen furniture; how easily is it now borne by that dog, who bath carried away both my cooking instruments and dinner."



In an engagement between the Spaniards and Moors in 845, Almanzor, the Moorish general, seeing his troops beginning to fly, sat down in a field with his hands across, proclaiming, would there wait for death, since he was forsaken by his army." The soldiers, ashamed to desert their general, rallied, drove back the Spaniards in every direction, and ultimately gained a complete victory.


It is related by Zosimus, in his account of the battle between Constantius and Magnentius at Mersa, that a soldier, whose name was Menelaus, possessed the art of shooting three arrows from his bow at one discharge, and with them could strike three different persons. By this skilful expedient, says the historian, he killed a great number of those who opposed him; and the enemy, it might also be said, were defeated by a single archer, Unfortunately, however, this valuable man at last fell by the bands of Romulus, a general of the armo of Magnentius, whom he had first wounded by an arrow.

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LONDON:-Printed for WILLIAM CHARLTON WRIGHT, 65, Paternoster Row, and may be had of all Booksellers and Newsmen.

The Portfolio,











WHAT a variety of emotions agitates the breast of a Briton when he beholds this venerable relic of the feudal times, for such it is, although some would have it an erection of the mighty Cæsar, when it was in reality built by a later conqueror of England-the Norman William. What scenes of blood and horror, of happiness and wretchedness, have passed within its ancient walls! How many great statesmen, queens, and other exalted personages, have respired their last breath in the gloomy dungeons of this well-guarded fortress! How many times has the black panoply of death been seen upon its hill, sure harbinger of the execution either of some approved traitor, or some innocent victim to political intrigue and lofty ambition!

But to descend to particulars :-we here see the very White Tower which was the origin of the whole pile, and which was erected eight hundred years ago by the bastard of Falaise, for the greater security of his metropolitan possessions.* The rude architecture of the other parts frequently betrays their extreme antiquity, and carries back the surveyor to the remote periods of baronial barbarity. Of this we might produce many instances; we will, however, merely mention one : The Tower chapel is partly built of flint stones, and partly of oister shells.


To a reflective mind much more interest is afforded by the contemplation of the Bloody Tower, so called from the many scenes of death which its walls have witnessed. It is in this Tower, to the best of our recollection,

An interesting and well written tale called the White Tower is contained in a con temporary publication, entitled "The Tell. Tale."


[2d. that the name of the beloved Jane Grey may be observed, as traced by the hand of the illustrious but unfortunate Dudley, while confined previous to his execution, which, our readers may recollect, took place a few moments before that of his young and beautiful spouse, and by order of the cruel Mary, the persecutor of the hapless Protestants of that period. No doubt the noble Stafford too, that victim to the worst feelings of a horde of wretches, who envied him that genius of which their pigmy minds could not catch a single spark-that Stafford who willingly laid his head on the block to save, if possible, his sovereign's life and throne, how fruitlessly we know, alas! too well-may have oft pined in gloomy meditation on the fickleness of fortune, though he would soon rise superior to the petty vexations of this poor world. We cannot help heaving a sigh at the thought of Sir Thomas More, the gentle, placid, chancellor, being conducted to this dull mansion by the Traitor's Gate; surely of all others he could not deserve the name of traitor; but so it was, that, under the reign of a flagitious prince (Henry VIII.) this great and good man felt the edge of the headsman's axe-horrid thought! But still the mild forbearance and jocose carelessness of Sir Thomas, during his misfortunes, cast, as it were, a ray of light over the otherwise dark scene, and the filial piety of his daughter, Miss Roper, who preserved his honored head from disgraceful exposure, and pined over it in secret, forces the pleasing tear of sympathy, while we cannot but execrate the cause of her grief.

Then again we think of the crookbacked tyrant Richard, who ordered the murder of his innocent nephews in this very turret.-After Shakespeare has touched upon the subject, it would be ridiculous to dwell upon this horrid theme; but we must be allowed to ruminate awhile on the courageous loyal2 G

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